The Sunbeam Weyr
by IcefireStarfire
Summary: Deep in the Sunbeam Ruins lies the Sunbeam Weyr, appropriately named after their beautiful homeland where the clan was first founded. The dragons here have never moved away from the Ruins, paying tribute to the Lady Lightweaver year after year, as tradition decrees. Follow them as they go about their daily lives, and dive into the world of Flight Rising!
1. Introduction

**Author's Note: Well, I am very excited to find that _finally, _after all this time, FFN has decided to add a category for FR FanFiction because I've been wanting one _forever_! If anyone wants to know, I'm of the same name on FR.**

**Now I present to you a story about the daily lives of my clan, the Sunbeam Weyr! All mentioned dragons are dragons that I have in my lair. Point of view _will_ shift in third person between dragons, so be ready!**

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><p>The Sunbeam Weyr has existed in the Sunbeam Ruins for as long as the members of the clan could remember, and yet they knew they weren't the richest clan, nor the most powerful, despite being of nearly as old as the oldest of clans. Many dragons have come and gone through the ranks of the clan, hundreds of hatchlings have taken wing to leave for a new life of their own, and many flora and fauna had been eaten to satisfy the clan's ever-growing food demands. Despite the hardships that sometimes occurs, life goes on, and travelers constantly find themselves stopping by for a drink and a story, or perhaps to eventually decide to stay.<p>

The Weyr has seen all manner of new genetics coming and going throughout the years, and the clan is as diverse as any clan could be. A barrage of colors and vivid personalities punctuate the daily lives of the dragons who reside within the Weyr, and at the end of the day, they all come together to share their discoveries and confide in one another. They are friends, and they are family, while at the same time, they are not. Some of them are related to one another in one way or another, but most are from separate and complex lineages dating back to the beginning of the Fourth Age.

Dragons here mostly pursue learning, but they do not particularly enjoy being forced to learn. Those from faraway clans may enjoy crafting or releasing some of their inner, flight-specific tendencies through local material or stuff that they send for from other clans. The members of the clan are otherwise quite peaceful among one another, with a slight rivalry between Imperials and Pearlcatchers, which is only to be expected. However, if the need arises, most are more than willing to assist in defending their clan.

This clan is one of the lesser-known clans in the Sunbeam Ruins, unfortunately for those dragons who like the idea of fame, and a relief for those who detest commotion. They don't do too many things to make themselves "famous", though they will do their best to please any visitors or friends that decide to come by, of which there are few.

If there's anything the entire clan likes, though, it is lore. Stories are one of their most beloved subjects ever, closely followed by arts and crafts, music, cooking, paleontology, and the studies of everything else. On that note, several members of the clan enjoy roasting whatever the gatherers have seen fit to bring back home, and the clan usually eats well for their efforts, with a little bit of emergency indigestion here and there...but a little sand or clay will smooth that out immediately.

Each dragon of the Weyr has such a different personality that it's a wonder the Sunbeam Ruins can hold all of them, much less other clans as well! But somehow, there is room for everybody, which is good because otherwise there'd be trouble.

The clan has always existed peaceably with the neighboring clans, never squabbling, sometimes trading, and never dishonoring or shaming in any way. They have a very limited connection to the rest of their brethren out in Sornieth. They honor the deities as they should, favoring Lightweaver above the others due to their elemental residence and affinities.


	2. Waking Up

Morning came in the form of golden streaks filtering through the crowns of the trees scattered around the clan lair. Birds chirped, and already many dragons were up and about, eating their breakfast or moving off into the sparse forest without a meal.

From where she slept with Takkular, Ammerli could see everything going on in the main clearing while dragons stirred around her. This was the main lair, and while the nesting couples chose instead to forgo their nests in the lair so that they could sleep in the nesting hollows hidden on the opposite side of the clearing, most slept here during the night. Of course, a few dragons would also choose to sleep outside under a bush or ruined pillar jutting out of the ground, for whatever reason she still couldn't figure out, besides simply wishing to.

Ammerli peeked through her half-closed eyelids, watching as huge feet nearly stepped on a clanmate's outstretched tail as the owner of the foot moved out of the lair awkwardly. She saw that it was morning already, much to her displeasure, for she was still tired. The coatl turned and pushed her nose into her mate's fluffy, feathered chest, breathing in his comforting scent. She'd had a disturbing dream last night, and was still feeling a little disoriented by it all.

Takkular, to his credit, didn't stir at all when she withdrew her nose and proceeded to begin her daily grooming routine, pausing in her progress at times to groom his plumage as well.

Meanwhile, all around her, the others were stirring and grooming one another, and leaving the lair or simply chatting in the comfort of their nests and clanmates.

"I sense rain," mumbled a tundra as he lumbered out of the lair. "It's still far off, might come in a few days or so. Will be...coming in from the Sea of a Thousand Currents," he added.

Ammerli identified the tundra as Soravior, who was quite adept at predicting the weather. While they could all technically smell rain on the way or determine what the weather might be like in a few hours, the next day, or some other short time-span, he had the best sense and could see farther.

Several hatchlings flew out after him and his mate, who followed close behind. The clan had recently taken in a batch of "new blood", as they called it, and the hatchlings were already making themselves quite useful, and had also seemed to establish mates among themselves. The coatls went with one another, and the spirals went with each other as well. Seemed like everything was started off real early nowadays, with dragons picking mates from as young as a month to as old as heck, unless they were in service to one of the deities. Of course, the younger pairs didn't always stick, but the newest couples seemed like they were ready for this commitment. But of course, they _were_ several months old already...

Ammerli brushed the musings out of her mind and returned to her grooming, but she couldn't help watching the clan's own hatchlings as they tumbled out from the hatchling's lair situated nearby, just close enough to help if they were in trouble but far enough away so their midnight babbling wouldn't disturb their parents.

She sighed as she put the feathers on Takkular's shoulder in order. Watching the clan's current lively hatchlings had only made her think of her own, the ones she had with Takkular, of course (she'd never take on another mate!). None of their children remained in the Weyr, but it was all for a good cause. They were old enough to want to start their own families, and they were eager to fly off to go wherever, with a few even choosing to eventually serve the gods. She fretted over them every day, since none of them had sent her any messages or anything of the sort, but she knew they were probably okay. But she could never shake off the thought of any of them possibly starving in clans where nothing happened and no one ate, Shade knowing what happened to make them like that.

Ammerli shook her head and berated herself for thinking of such things. It wouldn't do her any good, and frankly, it would be quite some time before she and Takkular nested again, so it wasn't going to help her if she constantly thought about her past children. Every one of those coatls had been lovely, graceful creatures, and she was proud of them, as any mother should...

She must have either scraped at a soft spot or something while grooming his shoulder, because Takkular grunted from where he was sleeping awkwardly on his backside and rolled over with a groan.

"Where's the sun?" he asked in his murmuring coatl voice. "Have I overslept?"

"No," Ammerli said, turning to put her own plumage in order, which was frankly faster than trying to groom a sleeping Takkular. "There's still dew on the grass."

"Okay."

Takkular twisted his neck around to rearrange his scuffed-up wing feathers.

"Say, you wanna go fishing later?" he said around his mouthful of feathers. "It looks like a good day for some fishing!"

"Don't you know the best times to fish are in the early morning or late afternoon?" Ammerli scolded teasingly. "And you call yourself a coatl!"

Takkular sat back on his short haunches.

"Ah, but who said I was a fisher?" he said gaily, before getting back on his feet. "Either way, let's get up and going," he called over his shoulder. "I can see all our breakfast being eaten away by those gluttonous ridgebacks!"


	3. Buying Silks

Ashfall thought it was great and all to be here in the Sunbeam Weyr, living alongside the Lightweaver's followers, but he still couldn't help reflecting sadly on his past, where he had once been named something that had begun with a _V _that he couldn't even remember anymore. Ashfall felt a twinge of guilt as he curled his tail around his smaller mate, Nyhrene, who slept soundly despite the bustling of the clan as midday slowly approached. She knew his past, but she didn't know how much he dwelt upon those memories, even though it wasn't going to do him any good to keep living in the past.

The large, fiery-colored imperial shifted slightly, causing his steampunk apparel to creak as the metal bits rubbed together. He gritted his teeth, wondering why he even chose to sleep with all the gear on. True, he liked to be ready, but this was a little overdone...wasn't it? And true, others went to sleep in their assorted apparel, and _they_ never really seemed to have any issues, even if they wore as clunky steampunk garb as he did. Eh, oh well.

Scattered about the large dragon were pieces of bone, a rainbow of feathers, and beaded bits, all of which were hoarded by Nyhrene, who was a tundra. What she did with all these things, Lightweaver knows, but he did notice an increase in the number of birdskull apparel being worn around the clan, as though it was a new fashion trend to wear those musty-smelling skulls of dead birds that had been around for who knows how long. Even Nyhrene had her own silver birdskull apparel... Ribbons seemed to be on the rise as well, though he didn't see as many in the Weyr in particular...except the silver bows on Nyhrene again.

Ashfall snuffed gently at his mate's fluffy topknot, careful not to wake her, but she stirred nonetheless. A smile crinkled the edges of her mouth, and she seemed happier even without opening her eyes. The bow around her neck bobbed slightly in his warm breath, and he paused to nuzzle the soft fabric. The sheen of the ribbon reminded him of his current mission, which was to possibly see about acquiring some silks for his mate, and maybe even the rest of the clan. He had gone out of the Ruins often enough to realize that the silks, woven and decorated in a myriad of places ranging from the Viridian Labyrinth to the Southern Icefield, were now all the rage, more than pretty bows and shaman-looking birdskulls, but the latter two were still popular all the same.

It wasn't until the sun was well risen and the clan lair was pretty much emptied of all except the most tired of dragons before Nyhrene took it upon herself to wake up. She was an easy-going dragon, but Ashfall was almost jumping out of his skin with impatience at how long she liked to sleep, no matter how much he loved her.

"Morning," she said in that tundra sort of way, while Ashfall simply snorted.

"More like lunchtime," he said, trying to offset his slight irritation and change it to a teasing way, but failed and only made himself more exasperated. But of course, his peaceful mate didn't notice.

"Oh, well, that's just as good," she carried on instead. "Lunch is bigger than breakfast of course."

Ashfall only grunted, mindful of the fact that once his mate woke up, her wandering tundra mind wouldn't keep up very well with his more sophisticated talk.

Emerging from the lair himself, he caught sight of one of the many imperial couples of the clan sunning themselves by their nest, mostly hidden by some ferns and bushes. He shivered as he saw the sun shimmering off their wings and playing across their dull-ish, coal gray bodies. Nyhrene didn't notice as she walked off to munch upon some herbs, but Ashfall paused to watch the pair, remembering with a pang his past life. Then he shook his head. It wasn't safe for all the clan's many imperials to be in the vicinity of the clan at once, and it was only risked at night. The more superstitious imperials woke as early as they could to leave, though, because what if the entire clan were killed in the night?! Then there would be emperors, and emperors didn't bode well with the poor imperials.

A few tundra-lengths away from the imperial pair, a ridgeback and his spiral mate curled about their eggs in a haphazard heap. They'd put off mating for a while now, because they knew that no clan would want their hatchlings, and for whatever reason their hatchlings always dreamed of aspiring to become servants to the gods. Which was a little sad when they realized that they had very, _very_ few descendants flying around the world, passing on their bloodlines, while some of the others had noticeably more success. Nonetheless, serving the gods was still a very honorable position, and all Light dragons dreamed of seeing Lightweaver's hoard of books, even if they didn't particularly wish to serve her themselves. After all, if everyone went to serve their deities, there would be no one left to be a clan! You can't take mates when you're exalted to such a high position, and you don't ever have time to come back, what with all the marvelous books to read!

After he'd eaten his own meal, he left Nyhrene to her devices and proceeded to leave the clan's main lair on a little, self-appointed quest, taking a generous handful of the clan's treasure with him. He felt slightly guilty at taking the treasure, but reassured himself that it was for a good cause.

Ashfall wandered the flat grassy area where the trading dragons came to hawk their wares, some packing up as they prepared to set off for another place, others unpacking and already advertising their booths. This place wasn't easy to find, but it wasn't hard to find either, as long as you looked in the right place and actually wanted to buy something. It was strange magic.

On and on he trekked through the apparel section of the trading area, scrutinizing the price of every single piece of nice-looking apparel he came across. Every time he saw a piece of silk or one of the newest scale armor pieces, he snatched it up right away. Meanwhile, the other nice things like the birdskull apparel, satin tunics, steampunk pieces, flair scarves, and more similar items made him itch to buy it and give it to Nyhrene. His mate positively _loved_ clothes. Actually, most of the clan loved clothes. But he, _he_ only wore clothes because Nyhrene insisted he try on the gold steampunk apparel set, and then had fallen in love with the compliment to his colors and befitting of his flight, Lightning.

He noticed his mind was beginning to wander again, so he shook himself to clear it. Now he had a nice haul of moonscale armor, some silver, green, and gold silk bits, and he felt content. Nyhrene might not take the armor or celadon and gold silk, but he was sure that she'd take the silver silk.

Ashfall rushed back to the Weyr with his armload of goods, dropping off everything except the silver silk into the clan's chilly, dark hoard cave, and then carefully put the silver silk in a safe, hidden spot in their part of the clan lair. No one would dare take it, he didn't think, but it was better to be careful. He didn't want to distract his mate only to find that some other rowdy clan member had taken a shine to the silk. Then he ran off to find Nyhrene.

"Nyhrene!" he called in a low voice, not wishing to wake the other dragons. "Nyh-re-e-e-e-ne!"

When there was no reply, he laughed to himself and thought that she must be close by, busy to the point of ignorant bliss. Oh what he'd give to have a tundra's soundness! He laughed again as he sniffed the air for her scent, then followed it out of the lair grounds.

The trail went this way and that through the golden forest, with a nibbled-on bush here and there or a tree whose bark had been scraped a little by a tundra straining to taste a leaf or two. Ashfall had to laugh at Nyhrene's attempts to sate her hunger. Clearly she hadn't wanted to eat _too_ much of the clan's hoard, or she was off gathering for plants. He hoped it was the latter, because tundras can definitely eat a lot of plants...

It wasn't long before he heard puffing, and saw the black and gray tundra ripping the berries off a berry bush ravenously, not caring for the juices that were trickling down her chin and staining her puffy fur.

"Nyhrene!" Ashfall laughed as his mate turned to look at him in bewilderment.

"Ashfall," she simply said in the way that tundras do. "What are you doing here? I thought you were..."

She trailed off, but Ashfall didn't seem to notice as he continued, "I have a little surprise for you, Nyhrene! But we're going to have to clean you up first. Don't want to ruin the...er...surprise before everybody else sees them now do we?"

Nyhrene nodded, and so giddily, Ashfall led her back to the lair.


	4. Slash, Run, and Wear Clothes?

Rathus brutally slashed at a masked harpy, clipping the creature's wing and sending it squawking in anger back to where its fellow harpies were waiting for the perfect opportunity to attack. Beside him, his mate, Calima, crouched down with wings half-spread, ready to pounce at the next harpy who dared come forward. On Calima's other side, Coljadeia twisted anxiously in midair. Her twisting was beginning to irritate Rathus, but he didn't dare berate Coljadeia for it. After all, she was a spiral, and the beloved mate of Haorion.

Rathus snorted as one of the harpies stuck her head forward aggressively, readying himself for another lash. He and his teammates were the best coliseum fighters of the clan. It wasn't much of a boast but more or less the truth: No one beats them!

One of the harpies seemed to hesitate, but Rathus ignored her and focused on the group as a whole. He was right to do that when the middle harpy suddenly dashed out, struck Coljadeia to the shoulder, and then danced away. Calima snarled and leaped at the retreating harpy, cuffing the masked offender upside the head, where she screeched and flopped onto the ground, stunned.

They took turns driving the harpies away from them, sustaining a few injuries as they went. Before long, they were all alone in the dusty battlefield, warily scenting the air for nearby enemies as Coljadeia methodically gathered up the loot left behind.

"These Beastclans are getting bolder," Rathus hissed to his two teammates as they crept around a scraggly bush. "They weren't this reckless a few years ago."

Calima dipped her head in the barest of nods. "And to think, the strange things they believe! Sure, they may have lived here longer than us, but it was _our_ gods who created this land upon which they live! Who do they think they're fooling? And that Talona! Who knows, the Shade could be behind all of this!"_  
><em>

The last words were spat out in a frustrated manner, before Calima added, "At least the gods see fit to grant us elder clans more space. We could use the warriors."

"At the very least, not all familiars are this bad," Coljadeia whispered into the brief pause. "Some of them are actually okay, and paining at the idea that their relatives could so willingly attack the dragons with which they have befriended."

"Either way," Rathus muttered, "with the two new additions to our clan, we have been made even stronger!"

The last word was a roar as he leaped from hiding and pounced on pair of dodos who had been regarding their surroundings in a suspicious manner. Most dragons can understand one another, and are semi-fluent in Beastclan language, and he had heard the two fat birds wondering if they should join Talona.

Calima and Coljadeia shot out on either side of Rathus to help him surround the dodos, snarling and growling, and in the case of Coljadeia, simply wiping her normally amiable spiral face clear of all emotion. These dodos were dangerous, and they must be beat.

The fat birds emitted a shriek and tried to flee, but a glancing blow from Calima made them halt.

"Dragons," the one with bluish markings cackled harshly. "_Dragons in the Harpy's Roost!_"

The darker one blinked blindly and began shrieking shrilly, warning all near and far to the danger. "Dragons!"

Rathus knew his teammates could deal with two, but not a whole flock. With a simple whisk of his tail, he signaled to his two female teammates to attack. They made short work of the dodos just as the sound of flapping wings rang in the air.

"Quick! Back to the Weyr!" Rathus hissed, bounding off. Calima scooped up half of the loot left by the injured dodos, and Coljadeia grabbed the other half, and they half-flew, half-galloped as fast as they could out of range of the harpies. Talona may not appear, but by the sound of it, there was at least a score of beasts. And no telling what they would do once they found the dodos and sister harpies lying on the dusty battlefields.

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><p>Meanwhile, back at the lair, Ashfall instructed Nyhrene to close her eyes while he retrieved his silk gifts. He carefully removed them from their hiding place and reverently attached the pieces to Nyhrene. First was the sash, and second was a veil.<p>

"You can look now!" he said cheerfully as he led Nyhrene to the clan's nearest water source: a perpetually dripping rock that had, over time, created a bowl-like depression filled with cool, sweet water. No one knew or bothered to find the source as long as there was water there. The hollow itself was large enough for a nest now that the clan had dug it out a little, and the water and constant scraping of muzzles against the bottom of the puddle had smoothed out the claw gouges.

Nyhrene peeked out into the water, watching her wavering reflection.

"It's so pretty!" she exclaimed in a hushed voice, so she wouldn't wake the nesting couples a few dragon-lengths away. "Is this silk? Where did you find this?"

"Yes, it's silk," Ashfall said with a slightly smug expression. "I found it on the market."

Nyhrene admired herself in the water for a bit, before twisting to look at the sash that Ashfall had tied about her waist. "And a sash, too? Wow!"

Ashfall tried to hide his pride, because he normally wasn't self-absorbed, but he couldn't help it much this time. He had gifted his mate, and she was happy! Who could ask for anything more?

"Come on now," he said teasingly. "I want to show the clan...well, the guys who are staying near the lair anyway."

Nyhrene went willingly, eager to show off her new clothes, as the two headed off towards the nesting pairs, where some of the weary parents were waking up already due to the happy exchange going on just beyond the ferns. There was much apologizing for the disturbance, but that soon vaporized in the light of Nyhrene's new apparel...


	5. Pastel and Home

Alestia found herself whiling away the hours of this lovely weather buried in a mountain of old scrolls and leather-bound books. Most books were stories or guides, and some, she was proud to say, were copiously printed into the fresh, clean pages by her own hand. The scrolls, however, were mostly records and other similar things, sometimes individually-standing poetry. And there was even a separate book sitting dust-free and looking newly bound on a pedestal off to the side, with glimmering golden letters emblazoned on the cover and spine. _That _one was a complete book of the clan records, a listing of every dragon who had ever set foot in the clan, and the pedigrees of those who were permanent settlers, and lists of their children. Some of the records were a little outdated, so maybe it's not that complete, due to Alestia immersing herself into the broad network of scholarly dragons so much. Right now the main concern was the issue of Beastclans, and truthfully, some of the Beastclans were even living within the Sunbeam Ruins! But the..._mostly_ peaceful quality of the Light dragons here were what kept the dragon clans closest to the beasts, safe.

The little fae sighed, and began humming a monotone song somewhere along the lines of glitter and truth as she sifted through the piles of literary works nearby. She'd seen these scrolls a hundred times over, and yet she was reading them again for hopes that she may have missed something. A discovery of a hidden meaning or secret message would send her clan to the top of the world, not literally, but in terms of fame. Oh, how nice that would be, though it'd be a bother that she suddenly decided might not be as great as she first thought, so she gently pushed those scrolls aside.

A munching sound outside the little study lair brought her back to the ground. She'd spent much too much time here, and it was probably better for her if she left her perch and went outside for a few days. Soravior had said it was going to rain, and her mate, the one who was chewing grass contentedly outside, had seconded that some time later when a warm, moist wind had blown over the area. Alestia figured as much, but it was still better to get a tundra's opinion.

"Amethyo!" she called, trying her best to sound excited, or to at least portray _some_ kind of emotion, but failed miserably like always.

Alestia rose from her perch and soared across the little study lair—okay, on second thought it's not that small, because an _imperial _could fit in if there weren't so many books—and out the entrance. The sunlight was bright and steady, and the fae automatically sent a little thanks towards her mother deity. True, Lightweaver hadn't created her species, fae, but she _had_ created her, so that was good enough.

Outside, it only took a second to find her mate, being the great, furry, pastel purplish color and eye-searing magenta pink he was, and alighted on his back. He made a noise of greeting, that Alestia had no trouble discerning due to how long they'd been together—they could understand each other perfectly despite breed differences.

When he paused in his eating to give her a questioning look by tipping his head a bit, she took to it that he was trying to ask if she'd found anything.

"No, I found nothing new," she said with a sigh.

Amethyo looked a bit disappointed, she thought, as he turned back to the shrub he was slowly ripping apart.

It was too pretty a day to be wasted on gloomy thoughts, so Alestia decided to hum again. This time there was some snippets of things about Lightweaver and books, but it wasn't like anyone listening in could be sure, except other faes, of which there were none nearby.

They basked in the sunlight a bit, Alestia humming and Amethyo merely eating his way around, but eventually Amethyo got it in his head to go somewhere. Alestia twined her tiny fae claws tightly into Amethyo's thick pink mane of fur as he lumbered off into the dappled forest.

A few moments later found them standing at the very edge of Lightweaver's land, not far from the Beacon of the Radiant Eye, where the sunny land and decent soil turned into a sudden drop-off into the ocean. Tidelord didn't rule here, as everyone well knew, but that didn't stop visiting or resident Water Flight dragons from sending him their well-wishes, and a slightly apologetic one to Lightweaver shortly after.

Alestia tossed her head and raised the fin-like crests that sprouted about her head. The ocean was calm today, but her keen eyes made out the little waves coming towards the land before the foam appeared, and she saw dark shadows moving beneath the waves.

"Nice view, don't you think?" Amethyo said suddenly, surprising Alestia as always. She was pretty much used to the idea that tundras normally stay pretty quiet unless they're speaking to other tundras.

"Sure is," she replied after she'd gotten over her brief surprise.

Looking up into the sky, she made note of where the bright yellow disk of a sun was, and added, "It's going to be sundown soon. We'd better get back..."

Amethyo looked up as well, before turning to lumber off back in the direction they came from.

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><p>The lair grounds were...mostly quiet when the progenitor pair returned to their clan. There was a clamoring of admiration from a rather large fraction of the clan clustered in a circle about a few of their clanmates. All Alestia could see from her perch on Amethyo's head was a few of her clanmates strutting around, showing off their colors and...<p>

Her eyes widened a bit as they caught the sight of shimmering fabric. Was that silk?

She straightened up a little to hear the snippets of exclamations from the group, and saw more flashy fabric as it sparkled in the light of the setting sun. It was silk! Who'd gotten that coveted material for the clan? They must be rewarded!

Alestia flew off Amethyo's head, ignoring his inquiring glance, and flew into their private lair. Their dwelling was removed from the rest of the clan's, like some of the other, more...prestigious pairs, of which there were few to grant such a gift. Of course, being progenitors and the fact that Amethyo was a very skilled den-digger, they had made separate lairs for themselves and the rest of the anticipated clan when they settled.

Into the dimly lit lair she flew, alighting gently on her sap-spun nest, attached precariously to a jutting piece of clay that Amethyo had thoughtfully jabbed into the wall when he first dug it. The lair itself was much, _much_ smaller than the clan's main lair, only due to the fact that it normally only housed two dragons, one who was very tiny, and one who was easily a hundred times larger than the former. In the beginning, their hatchlings had also sheltered here, but more recently, those hatchlings had all been sent to the service of Lightweaver, something they were quite proud of, actually. There wasn't much of a place in the world for those children otherwise, most clans being much too full or picky to take in newcomers anymore.

Alestia rummaged around until she found what she was looking for: her bleached peacekeeping vest (which she threw on rapidly, realizing that having taken it off to go to the study-lair was a rather risky move, with the Beastclans about now), her peacebringer's cowl, and her winter cape. She couldn't go out lacking her usual apparel, and frankly, capes such as hers were much rarer and valuable than silk, but silk had far more varieties than a simple cape, no matter how beautiful. And with that, she flew out to meet the clan.


	6. Damp Rain

Rhinestone woke to the sound of rain drumming heavily on the roof of the lair, a few days after the first silk pieces had arrived via courtesy of Ashfall. Peeking over the deep rim of her individual nest, she opened a fiery amber eye to look towards the entrance of the lair. To her dismay, it was dark and stormy outside, and although no rain flooded down the slight incline into the den, the hard-packed soil there seemed very wet. How were the nesting couples faring?

The guardian sighed and nestled back down into her hollow. Being one of the clan's guardians, she was duty-bound to sleep nearest to the lair's entrance in case of an attack. Any mirrors currently residing in the clan, like Firelight's mate, Solarflare, slept just behind them, ready to leap around and between the large, bulky guardians to strike quickly and retreat for a bit to attack again. They practiced this often, which also meant that the roof eventually had to be covered in sturdily-baked clay, a special kind that was more rocky than pottery clay. Which overall made the lair safer, but it'd never be safe from lone dragons or bloodthirsty rival elements.

Despite the sleep pulling at her eyelids, Rhinestone couldn't really return to her interrupted sleep—instead, she found herself gaining more awareness of her surroundings with each passing minute, suggesting that she was pretty much waking up. She sighed, which was when she noticed a cool dampness creeping through the lair due to the endless rainfall. Soravior had predicted right, she thought, but still.

As she grew more aware, Rhinestone noticed tiny weights on her back, and scented the clan's various familiars—each clan member was tasked with making friends with at least one familiar, which, by the time it was completely loyal to the clan, might provide some help. Granted, they didn't like trying to figure out what their cousins in the Beastclans were doing, but they tried their best anyway, and that was nice. Though usually most familiars didn't sleep with the dragon who chose to befriend them, and usually sleep in a familiar-den that the clan had dug, due to the issue that wary familiars didn't want to sleep with the clan if it wasn't chosen to be made loyal to the clan, and sometimes the larger familiars just took up too much space. But sometimes when it was cold, the befriended ones would come over to sleep in the clan lair with their companion dragons. Like the fire sprite nestling up between her shoulder blades, only it came every night, not only when it was cold.

Rhinestone waited several more minutes, before opening her eyes again. Peering up the slight incline of soil, she noted that it was still dark. A rivulet of water trickled down the more down-packed soil in the center of the passageway, which reminded her irritably of how much she disliked the way that this lair had been dug. But then, it _was_ Amethyo's earliest work, after all. And it was only a combination of hard soil and strange materials buried just beneath the surface that somehow kept the water from flooding in all the time. Once, the clearing had become a pond that was only a fae's length from pouring down the tunnel! But for some reason, it would never get any worse than that.

She shifted a little to look deeper into the dark recesses of the den, trying her best to mask the shift as a mere sleeping twitch. She didn't want anyone to possibly notice she may be awake.

The only light was at the end of the den, where a mostly squarish alcove had been dug into the wall and lined with clay to support it. Tiny stones and pebbles had been cleverly packed into the walls and floor of the little alcove to add to the support, and she knew some branches spanned the top, but you wouldn't see any of the extra reinforcement if you'd just glanced at it. Additional clay had been smeared over it to produce a mostly smooth surface, and overall it was quite creative, although the only purpose of the alcove was to house a tiny fire. It was lighted every night, and reduced to glowing embers fit for a cooking fires by the next morning. If a dragon stood outside to look in, they wouldn't even see the light it cast.

All it did was illuminate the lair in a dim light, while providing warmth. The most vulnerable of dragons were allowed to sleep close to it, such as those who couldn't or didn't know how to defend themselves in case of an attack, or those who were so lacking in a way to warm themselves that they needed the help of something else, like fae dragons did.

The guardian surveyed her clanmates for a bit, her eyes flickering from one source of movement to the next. A breathy sigh from a tundra here, a twitching mirror's paw over there.

How lucky, she thought. The deeper in the lair you were situated, the less likely you would feel the drafty air from the mouth of the lair or hear the things that went _bump_ in the night. And the less you were aware of, the more likely you'd sleep soundly.

Rhinestone sighed again, shifting so she resumed her original position. She could feel the damp cold soil beneath her nest, and resisted the urge to toast herself alive with her share of Flamecaller's fire. She'd have to add more bedding tomorrow...


	7. History and a Tale

While Rhinestone shifted about, trying to get comfortable again, somewhere in a newly-dug private lair for just him and Nyhrene (mostly as a reward for his find, per request) elsewhere around the clearing, Ashfall twitched and made hurt sounds, like a lost Bamboo Phytocat kitten. Nyhrene didn't notice his having a disturbing dream, but slept soundly on his other side, helping to keep him warm from the drafty entrance that lairs were notorious for, since she had a thick coat of fur.

In his mind's eye, Ashfall could see the lava bubbling from the great forges of Flamecaller, and could hear the harsh clangs of metal striking metal. He smelled smoke and felt a warm breeze wash over him, tousling his stiff, short mane a bit as the wind beckoned him to take to the air. He kept his crimson wings folded, though, as he looked about.

Ashfall saw tons of dragons milling about, coming and going. Many were pleasingly colored, or eye-searing, or a mix of pastels and bright, bold colors. There were many plentiful dragons, lots of coatls, and most importantly of all, a very high number of imperials, hanging out languidly together. He, being more attuned to the dangers of such gatherings since he'd last seen this Fire clan, shied away a bit, but his dream soon drew him back in.

He found himself in the company of a lovely ivory-scaled, crimson-winged, white-bellied female imperial. He knew her well. She was...his first mate—he dare not speak her name now, it is taboo to him. They were mates, through and through, and had had many beautiful children together, all in their likeness.

One day, the clan welcomed in a new dragon, from the Southern Icefield. He had undoubtedly flown a long way, for he had nothing heavy on him, and all he possessed was an arrogant air of superiority. Ashfall welcomed him like the rest of the clan did, unknowing of the sorrow this newcomer would cause. And all the while, Ashfall winced in his dream as he recognized the stiff figure.

The dream passed quickly now, through days where Ashfall noticed that his mate was growing more distant from him. Once, she'd laughed when he'd tried to tell her a joke, but now his jokes were met with scorn. Once, she'd been content to sleep near him in their lair, but now, she stayed further away than he would've liked. At first, Ashfall thought it was only a passing fad—but the more he looked, the more he suspected. At last, driven by a need for information, he'd followed her as she left the clan one day, keeping far enough away so that she wouldn't sense his presence, but close enough to hear her footfalls and gentle breath as she hurried through the fiery forges.

Ashfall was shocked when they reached her destination—a secluded place overlooking the Great Furnace, where Flamecaller was said to live. There, the newcomer waited as Ashfall's mate emerged with a suspicious glance over her shoulder, before confidently meeting the other Ice dragon.

Ashfall could barely contain his rage and hurt, and knew now what he must do. No one should have to tolerate this much betrayal, and he surely didn't want to lose his mate to an upstart whelp who was many times younger than he was. That would be the ultimate humiliation! No, he must fight to get her back.

But he hesitated instead of leaping, and decided to call it off when he saw one thing: The two dragons—his mate, and the newcomer—were both, surprisingly, Ice dragons. Was that the root of all his problems?

He sighed, blowing out a snort of hot air from his muzzle as he dreamed on. He dreamed that he left the two dragons to their happiness, and returned home alone. He dreamed about the short week afterward when he contemplated his options, and had finally chosen to leave the next time his mate was busy cheating him. How could he have doubted her devotion? How could _she_ have done this? And why? Was he, a Lightning dragon, not deserving enough of his mate? Though it wasn't all that uncommon for an older dragon to suddenly take a liking to a younger one, not like being younger was more rewarding or anything...

Despite the growing intensity of the rain drumming on the roof of his new lair, Ashfall slept like a log, except for whimpers and twitches that were all but drowned out by the downpour.

Ashfall dreamed himself reaching his final conclusion: He would leave this Fire clan. There was nothing left for him here, right?

The Lightning dragon packed up the few worldly possessions he had and stowed the small package away in a hidden spot, and waited until the time was right. He would leave when his mate left to cheat on him again, and he would leave her no notes of apology. Yes, that's what he would do. Not like she'd care...

His chance came sooner than he'd expected, and when it did come, he wasted no time in shouldering his pack and making his way into the center of his immense clan's lair-grounds. He told everyone who bothered to ask that he was leaving, and promptly launched himself off the cliff that they were situated nearest to, soaring up on wings buoyed by the heat from the lava fields below.

As he left his clan, he decided to change his name to Ashfall, after the Ashfall Wastes. He would always remember this betrayal, he thought, and nothing would ever—

He woke with a snort, which was drowned out by a crash of thunder. For a storm that originated from the Sea of a Thousand Currents, it sure was strong...and it masked all visible remnants of the Lightweaver. His Lightning blue eyes looked out of the mouth of the lair and eyed the sky warily, half-expecting to see Stormcatcher, but all he saw were roiling clouds and the trees bending beneath the onslaught of wind and rain. With a shiver, he stopped his rampant imagination from running wild. This was no Shade. It was just a storm.

Ashfall shifted into a more comfortable position, well aware that he must've been sleeping on the same side all night so far. What time of the day was it, even? He didn't know.

Next to him, the fluffy bundle that was Nyhrene jumped awake with a squeal as an even louder crash of thunder sounded through the night.

"Hey! It's okay!" Ashfall roared over the rumbling of the storm. "It's just rain."

Nyhrene burrowed into Ashfall's side, trembling a little as she recovered from the noise. It was a wonder already that she hadn't been woken by that first clap of thunder, but then, tundras slept deeper than other dragon breeds. At least she didn't know about his dream...

"Some storm," she said, her voice almost lost as another boom echoed above them. Ashfall only nodded, already contemplating how the rest of the clan was going to fare, or how they were going to even get breakfast.

"I'm hungry," he muttered as his stomach grumbled in agreement.

"I don't want to go out there," Nyhrene said worriedly as Ashfall made to get up. "We'd only catch a chill, and that won't help the clan at all."

Ashfall paused. "Yes, but aren't _you_ hungry?" Nyhrene was certainly more talkative than most tundras, to dragons besides other tundras that is.

"Yes, but...," she trailed off dejectedly, and eyed the storm.

"Tell a story!" she suggested, as Ashfall made to get up again. The imperial dropped back down into the thick bedding with an exasperated sound.

"Fine," he grumbled, his stomach growling in harmony with him. "What do you want to hear?"

"Anything."

"Hmph..."

* * *

><p>"Long ago, when the Arcanist had secluded himself away and the Sisters warred, the Beastclans rose from the ashes of Sornieth. The very same explosion that had wiped away the creatures said to have built the Hewn City and similar structures also destroyed the surface of the land, leaving it in ruins.<p>

"The Beastclans decided to eke out a living, and they did. They prospered on the land, farmed the soil and built their halls, and all the while, the Sisters fought, the Arcanist studied, and the Eight continued to slumber on, within the great Pillar. The Beastclans had no use for magic, so they ignored the energies. Over time, the Beastclans became the most prominent life-form of all, until the Arcanist inadvertently changed that.

"Perhaps it wasn't an accident, but the Arcanist was curious. He saw the Shade, in all its power, spiraling in the heavens. The Arcanist climbed the Pillar and sought enlightenment, throwing arcs of magical energy out into the sky to draw the Shade's attention. The darkness mirrored his movements, and the Arcanist was captivated, until the Shade advanced.

"Like before, the Shade sought to devour this world and consume its magic. Frightened, the Arcanist dove away from the oncoming rush of horror, and when the Shade struck, the Pillar shattered...

"The Beastclans were mortified when pieces of the Pillar showered down around them, and from their ruins, the Eight awoke. The beasts had only ever seen the Sisters and the Arcanist, and as those deities did not pay them much heed, they had never really thought about their presence. But now that would change. They had to acknowledge the existence of the Eight.

"The gods dispersed to establish their own territories, and from those elemental nests rose the concept of elemental Flights. And from there, they made us, dragonkind, in their own image. Tidelord made the spiky and protective guardians, Flamecaller, well, called up the fire to give life to coatls. Lightweaver made imperials, and then made pearlcatchers, while the Icewarden made tundras in his image. And so it went, until dragonkind was complete.

"We dragons set out to dominate the land, doing our best to worship our creators and spreading across Sornieth, taking our magical abilities with us. Some of us conquered our land, and others still settled quietly. Some wiped out the Beastclans to take their lodgings, while others shared instead. With a little work, many centaurs became our friends and allies, while others joined only grudgingly. Those who live in the lands that now make up the area we call the Coliseum may as well be Shade-influenced.

"However, that peace was not to last...the Beastclans arose one day under the influence of the mighty harpy Talona and fought back against the dragons who tried to claim land in the name of the Eleven. They fought so much that some of our former allies now raise young who are prejudiced against dragonkind, much to everyone's confusion. How could we fight the Beastclans and fend off rival flights in the battle for dominance of Sornieth?

"As time went on, the battles became increasingly chaotic. Beastclan cities were leveled in the blink of an eye, smaller dragon clans chased from the lairs that they had so painstakingly made to suit their needs. We now believe the Shade is back for revenge, in the form of the beasts, knowing that as fractured as we are, we would not stand against it the next time it wanted our magic.

"Oh, magic. Yes, the magic that the Beastclans never understood was taught to some centaurs, who taught it to their fellows, and now their children are using it against us. While their elemental magic is weaker than ours, others have also caught on. A single blast from a dragon may defeat a Beastclan army, but several tribes together may defeat a dragon.

"Being imperials...we have one terrible secret. We may be harmless or fierce in battle, desiring not to die, but to survive and win. Because if we don't, we'll no longer be imperials but emperors, and that is something no one should have to fight.

* * *

><p>By the time Ashfall finished telling his own, shortened version of history, Nyhrene had fallen asleep again, curled up against his side. The rain had eased a bit, but splashes of rainwater still curled over the lip of the lair entrance, and the downpour was still drumming away outside. Ashfall sighed and laid his head on his mate's fluffy shoulders, snuffing a bit as the fur tickled his nose, his dream all but forgotten.<p> 


	8. Pearly Wilds

Redfyre shifted uncomfortably as she felt dampness rising up to her bones. The Wind dragon jerked awake as thunder boomed overhead, waking her fully. Looking around, she saw that everyone was asleep, and the fire in the alcove was slowly deteriorating into smoldering embers. Maybe if she buffed the flames a bit, they'll drive away the dampness the rain was bringing.

The pearlcatcher rose cautiously, careful not to tread on any tails as she picked her way towards the tiny flickering light. She saw a small pile of twigs and slightly larger sticks on the floor beneath the alcove, and picked up the largest stick and tossed it in. The fire sparked, and grew a little bigger, so she blew on it gently to coax it up.

She fed a few more smaller twigs to it until it was crackling again, in danger of waking up the dragons nearest to the flames. Then she slowly stalked back, unable to keep the signature pearlcatcher swagger out of her pace.

Redfyre settled down into her nest again, noticing with a stab of irritation that her mate, the Ice dragon Kaetur, was still sound asleep like everybody else in the lair except for her. She was tired, having spent the entire time before the rains came to help several other female dragons in the task of housekeeping.

She fidgeted until she got into a comfortable position, from which she rolled out her pearl, a smooth, lustrous sphere of her own making. It was a tad larger than Kaetur's she was proud to say, but it was sometimes cumbersome when she had to clean. Nevertheless, it was an important piece of art. To her, anyway.

Under cover of another roll of thunder, she coughed up a bit of thick, dark, slimy material—mucus. It coated the pearl and dribbled down the sides slowly as she pressed it in with breaths of wind. She didn't need to do this for tonight, she knew, but it always made her feel better to do it at least once a day.

With little puffs of breath and slight pressing from her claws, she shaped the slime until it covered the entire pearl evenly and thoroughly, before helping it to dry out completely. Unfortunately, it required sunlight and heat to be cured and returned to the beautiful pearl state, but she could wait for the sun. If this storm lasted any longer, she wouldn't be the only pearlcatcher whose pearl was dark with mucus.

Redfyre checked the pearl for any signs of cracking or damp spots before rolling it back into its special hiding place, a little hole lined with a thick layer of feathers and scraps of fur to cushion it and keep it safe. A thick layer of bedding covered it, and spread all over the rest of the nest so no one would know that that was the exact location she had hidden it. With that, the pearl disappeared from sight, landing without a sound in its pocket, safe and sound.

* * *

><p>Maruli the wildclaw kicked out a hind leg, narrowly missing grazing the leg of a clanmate sleeping somewhat behind her with the large claw that gave her breed their signature name.<p>

By the time she was awake, having spent the night in a virtually zombie state due to the rain, the storm was beginning to ease off into a light drizzle. That was good, because her bones were beginning to ache, and she was well on her way to being cranky.

"Scandein?" she hissed at an ice and teal wildclaw nearby. "Are you awake?"

At first there was no response—the male wildclaw often could sleep deeper than his mate, and being a Lightning dragon meant he was much less concerned about storms such as this than some others were. But then the pale shape visibly stretched, causing a tremor to run down to his tail tip, and he opened one strikingly blue eye.

"What?"

"Oh, good, you're awake," Maruli tutted, drawing herself up into a more upright position. "How long is this storm going to last? I'm hungry!"

Scandein only shrugged from his seemingly awkward sleeping position on the floor. "Am I supposed to know that?"

Maruli struggled to prevent herself from getting all the way up and stomping her foot. A movement like that could wake her clanmates, and some of them may be even crankier than her. "You're a Lightning dragon! Surely you know about storms?" Her voice rose into a whine.

Her mate only closed his eyes and mumbled, "You're cranky. Go back to sleep. The sun will rise when it rises, not before. And don't forget to calm down...zzz..."

"Oh, males!" Maruli exclaimed, settling down grudgingly like a bird.

Looking towards the mouth of the lair, however, she supposed that Scandein was right. You can't just make a storm go away...or could you? If you prayed to Stormcatcher enough, would he come and calm the rains? Probably not, Lightweaver might not welcome him, but it was worth a shot.

"Sorry, Lightweaver," she muttered into her bedding. "Dear Stormcatcher, please could you round up the rains from here? I know I live in the Sunbeam Ruins, and I know that I am a child of the Icewarden, but I don't want any more rain here. Surely it's flooding outside! But it's okay if you can't..."


	9. Cooking Breakfast

When the clouds had finally parted, Alestia flitted out to assess the...damage. To her relief, the clan's new drainage system (since the last serious storm) was working quite well. The ground still looked damp and even muddy in some places, but there were minimal puddles and definitely no flood. When she flew out to the study-lair hidden some imperial-lengths away, she was pleased to see that the books and parchments were dry and not damp with moisture, like they had been in the very beginning of their storage. With the general checking finished, she returned to the clan.

By then, many of the dragons were stumbling out into the weak sunshine, some of the more finicky were exclaiming in disgust as they sank up to their ankles in mud in some areas. The dragons who had been overseeing nests when the storm hit looked rather bedraggled from standing in the rain so much, and a couple of them sneezed. Alestia reminded herself to tell the clan that they'd have to improve that venue, even if it was pretty much a rite of passage for nesting couples to know how to defend and care for their children.

She alighted upon Amethyo's head, drawing her winter cape around her. Wearing such things made flight awkward, but a touch of magic was enough to make the whole getup aerodynamic enough for smooth flying. Not everyone took advantage of that, though. She saw more than a few of the younger, less educated dragons stumbling as they attempted to lift off, and clearly failing. She shook her head.

At the center of the muddy clearing, a circular bed of rocks had been laid out and kindling staked partially into the ground in between the larger rocks, forming a conical shape. Smaller twigs crisscrossed through the center of the shape, poked in between the larger pieces of wood. A few dry leaves protruded out here and there. Pebbles had been shored up in the remaining spaces, and mud scraped up and plastered thickly on the edge of the rock bed. Then, a dark coatl with bright gold crackle markings scoring her dark feathers marched forward with a bowl of embers, and set it down near the pile.

Some of the dragons ignored the proceedings, while others watched in boredom, having seen this often enough to know what was going to occur. And still others raided the hoard, eating whatever they fancied, raw, before stepping aside in the cover of some thick growth to groom themselves and ridding the evidence of their wild behavior.

Elestre—that was the coatl's name—picked up the shifting embers in the bowl between two sharp claws and poked them into the remaining spaces of the pile of brush. Then she blew on them until the sparks caught and began creeping up towards the top of the firewood.

Alestia watched as the coatl turned and dragged out a long plank of wood, and then began...cooking, basically. Elestre tossed salads together with a mixture of honey gathered from honeycomb fragments, dwarf shelf fungus, dried crumbled manaweed, star moss, sweet grass, and who knows what else. She divided the salad evenly and passed it out to eager tundras. She used the fire to heat up a bowl of water until it was boiling while she mashed some potato onions, and then tossed the paste in, stirring in blackberry and honeycrisp apple juice. The result was a sweet, creamy, mashed potato onion...meal of sorts, which she passed off to one of the herbivores.

The clan's self-appointed chef worked quickly, occasionally pausing to throw more kindling on the fire. Alestia saw crumbled sugary prickleaf being used as garnishing for the roasted remains of a spotted skunk, saw red emperor tulips shredded into a mixture of ashfall prickler sauce, and then dribbled liberally over a dusk orpington. She saw a striped biter being seared quickly and dusted with dried, crumbled frost whispers and dribbled over with wisp fruit juice, all of which were being divided and handed out among those waiting for cooked goods in the clan.

Soon, it was her turn. Alestia watched Elestre deftly juicing a wisp fruit, knowing that it wouldn't cause any indigestion at all, and stirred in fallout whispers. Then she stirred in some honey and cinnamon, in tiny amounts, of course. Those might cause a bit of indigestion, Alestia supposed, but that wasn't such a big deal. Bits of grasshopper were then shredded in, and toasted tinder bug remains. Some other odds and ends of insects went into the mushy mix as well, before it was poured into a rather small, cylindrical container pre-filled partially with cold water and handed to her, dividing the rest of it to hand to a few others, especially those who could actually tolerate the different kinds of food present in the slush.

Alestia clutched the slush tightly in her tiny fae claws, wishing she were a tad larger so she'd be able to hold things properly. It wasn't the first time her thoughts turned inadvertently towards the fact that the Lightweaver could make dragons change breeds...maybe she'd become a coatl or wildclaw? No, it was okay to be a fae, even though most of the time her clanmates were much, _much_ larger than she was...

The clan slowly began to disperse with their little breakfast, sure to come back later for more. Amethyo himself ate his large tray of salad in what seemed to be one ravenous bite, and then moved off to chew more properly, with Alestia still sipping away on his head.


	10. Myrin and Fendell

Alhuron and Myotonic guided the two young fae dragons towards the Beacon of the Radiant Eye. With a brief flash of guilt, Alhuron realized that the young pair would be taking up lots of space. Precious space. The lair would need expanding soon, what with all the new residents pouring in the last few days. Beastclans were beginning to leave some clans empty husks of what they once were, and hatchlings often found themselves abandoned soon after birth, sometimes even before hatching. But these two fae were different. Sure, their clan hadn't been able to keep them, but they had no known parents to speak of, and they were definitely not siblings—much to his discomfort, the male was Shadow and the female was Earth. Already, they were beginning to act as a pair. They would be mates, Alhuron was sure, but that would still take some time.

The three fae were nestled on the fluffy back of Myotonic, who was far larger than all three fae combined and was okay with them hitching a ride on her. She lumbered on slowly, unfortunately pausing every so often to rip leaves from a seemingly random bush. Oh well.

"Myotonic, you can stop for a rest now," he said in dull voice. His mate gave a snort and kept walking, as if disagreeing with him.

"Alright, if you say so," Alhuron said in reply.

Soon, the little group entered the protective branches of the sparse forest near the Beacon of the Radiant Eye. Afterwards, it wasn't long before they broke through the long grasses at the edges of the clearing and entered the gentle babbling of a sleepy clan.

"Hey, guys! We found two," Alhuron called as loudly as he could.

The chatter ceased a little as several of the dragons came over to check out the new arrivals.

"Oh, they're so cute!" Maruli said, the wildclaw leaning down to get a better look. "And look! The little boy is the perfect colors!"

"But Maruli...the little boy is a Shadow dragon," Prophetess said, her eyes gaining a faraway look. "I foresee nothing bad, but rather only good things to come with their addition to the clan."

Myotonic bobbed her head in agreement, causing her three tiny mounts to hold on tight as they swayed.

The clan chattered on for a few more moments, arguing about whether it would be wise to let a Shadow dragon in. They already had a few Shadow members, but more? Those who were not Light dragons were neutral on the idea, but those who understood the Light dragons' old rivalry with their neighboring element claimed that it would be counterproductive to allow another Shadow dragon in, hatchling or not.

"_Alestia will decide_," said harsh voice.

Heads turned towards the source: a midnight mirror with ivory wings.

"You don't make the choice," she said. "Alestia will decide." With that, she whirled around and stalked off regally.

The clan was quiet for a while, before someone said, "Well, let's at least let the poor children rest awhile."

The dragons dispersed quickly, gathering insects and scraps of cloth soaked in cold water for the new arrivals, while Myotonic sniffed patiently at the sparse grasses growing on the trampled earth.

Alhuron gathered the two fae hatchlings into his arms as his clanmates returned, dumping wet cloth and dead or dying insects onto his mate's back. As the older fae divided up the bugs into manageable sizes, his mate took them into the lair where the fae spun their nests on the walls. It was dim and cool in the back of the lair as compared to the heat generated by the strong sunlight outside, even though the weather was steadily growing colder every week.

There was a bugling call outside just as Myotonic sank into her nest of pelts. She tossed her head a bit, as if annoyed, and made to get up, but Alhuron made her stay.

"You should rest," he said. "I can take care of them."

* * *

><p>The fae emerged from the lair with the young ones in tow. They were a little too young to be testing their wings just yet, but Alhuron kept them afloat with a little helping magic. He wasn't about to have splattered fae hatchlings for lunch today.<p>

"Bring them here, Alhuron," said Alestia from where she perched on Amethyo's head.

The matriarch's crests flared out, then relaxed back against her neck, still mostly fanned. Was that a warning? Alhuron sure hoped not. He kept his own crests lying flat and tucked stiffly against his neck in submission just in case it was.

The trio of fae landed on Amethyo's broad back, sinking into a rather thick summer coat that was uncomfortably warm from having baked in the sun for so long. Alestia stayed perched on the tundra's head, from where she could look down upon the other fae.

Alhuron tried to breathe normally as he fussed over the two hatchlings for a moment, taking some care to touch the Shadow boy as little as possible, before hastily bowing and shuffling back behind the little dragons.

"Where did you find them?" Alestia asked, forcing some tone into her voice so that the surrounding dragons may understand better.

"I found them together," Alhuron said. "They were abandoned near the southernmost side of the Hewn City. I couldn't just leave them there..."

Alestia's crests flared again, causing the little goldenrod and red fae to fall silent.

"Fair enough," she said. "And surely you were aware that the male is Shadow?"

Alhuron watched the pair of young fae huddling together despite the heat of Amethyo's thick fur. "Yes."

"Fair enough," she said again.

The clan murmured to one another in the background and Alhuron fought to keep calm under Alestia's scrutinizing gaze. The matriarch was old and had never thought of moving the clan away from the Beacon of the Radiant Eye, and thus had always kept allegiance with Lightweaver. She didn't like the idea of Shadow dragons, Alhuron knew, for he wasn't too comfortable around them either. Nevertheless, should trouble arise, they were easy to subdue...so why the big deal? Or was it simply the adding of new members the big deal?

Alestia spread her storm-purple wings and soared down next to the hatchlings, much to the surprise of Alhuron. Then he was surprised that he was even surprised at this. Hadn't he seen many initiations? Hadn't he himself gone through such a process?

Alestia circled the tiny dragons a few times, wings spread to keep the sun off their fragile hides. The little male bared his teeth and spread his wings, but still kept himself low and submissive, not quite daring to make a bite.

Alhuron subconsciously noticed that he was a tad smaller than his female companion.

"Hmm, he sure is a fighter," Alestia remarked.

In the background, individual voices could be heard in surprise.

"A fighter?"

"Him? A tiny fae?"

"That's not unheard of, but it's still rather rare..."

"He's so tiny! Will he even be able to hold up in the Kelp Beds?"

Amethyo silenced them with a low rumbling that wasn't really a growl, but sounded close to one. It also seemed to serve as a warning to the male fae, who slowly hid his teeth again.

"He may look like the model Light dragon," Alestia began, "but he is not one. He is Shadow, and although Lightweaver's children do not particularly like Shadowbinder's, we shall keep him."

Then the matriarch turned to the little obsidian and royal hatchling.

"Now this one, his companion, is clearly from Dragonhome. How far she's traveled to get here without being lost to Beastclans, I do not know. But as she is not Shadow, we are willing to automatically accept her into the clan."

She nosed the little female on to her feet. "Everybody look closely, for this is Myrin!"

The clan voiced their approval, being sure not to be too loud—they had neighbors, after all, and not to mention Beastclans lurking around.

Alestia turned to the male now, who was starting to relax and straighten up.

"Look closely everyone," she said again, "for this is Fendell!"


End file.
